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Best Poems Written by Sudarsan Mishro

Below are the all-time best Sudarsan Mishro poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Sudarsan Mishro Poem

Tides Aghaste

Chilling/curdling the innocent/timid blood with terror
might have become the pressing trend
with this rising cult,but not new rather
put to habit everywhere and all the time
since time immemorial.But every time
this leaves the world wounded,diseased and petrified.

Whom should we blame,whom should we mend?
Whom should we cite as example before the misled?
Is or is not something behind all these,and if it is,
is it itself the system or against this eternal perpetuation?
Does it happen to be answers to the questions
prevailing since before or just rising questions
from the pond of petrified answers?It is
no doubt at work but our numbness and mumbling
are just remarkable!

Note it,nobody is to be credited as a saviour
of any one.neither I nor you!
The mass getting butchered ever and everywhere
belong to no nation as like their butchers.
Everyone here surrounding the fire
pretends to be eager to put the fire off,
but in fact enjoys the rush,the loot,the shout,
the smoke,the flare till the devastation is complete.
Then only sense returns to count the bodies,
to move the half dead and at last 
to cry for the missed and the lost!

Still,droplets of blood,
shed or bled to save the dignity of the same
is just the ink-divine,to ascribe words
in glory of the heaven.
Ignoring the ignoble noise,
and consigning the heart-breaking debris
to forgetfulness,the subsequent resounding silence
without support from no one walking or talking
engages itself rebuilding all that is lost
till another tide of dehumanization returns!

Details | Sudarsan Mishro Poem

Ripening

Why does come the ripe age?

To count the evils of it one by one
upon your note pad or diary page
when you are alone?

To speak ill of your younger ones
to your equals/
to find their mean-less extravagance/
to be of no use to them in their
hours of stress/
to make them realise
that you are nothing but a kind of trash/
to advise,admonish or make them
to abstain or advance
just for the emptiness of purpose-
is this why the old age comes?

Was the whole of your life
that you lived a prolonged sin?
Is the whole of your life
that is yet to live
a season of repentance alone?

Well,if this strange but true
wretched turn has come at last-
let it be lived to the befitting terms.
Let those moments be recalled
when life bothered you in this or that name,
and you save the situation then,
just listen what time whispers
in to your ears
in this hour of disdain.

You are not yet alone,man!
The one in you,though much riper
still much younger is ready
to hold your trembling hand
till you reach somewhere safe and sound.
He is also eager to share with you
quite adventurous his story times.

Sweep back the light
that yet makes the outside bright.
Find within your kith and kin
that were lost in the crowd one by one.
Taste the elixir that you were
nowhere offered,nor were served
                                         in any inn.

Details | Sudarsan Mishro Poem

Things As They Are

Did a wonderful job indeed,
gave a justified twist to the taste.
Allowed the type writer
to type it's own emotions,
ball of events-it's own sequence of motions.

Still the concrete pillar
will erect itself-
eight-bent,nine-folded.
Marvels may swing and sail
like strings and strays.

The richness
will be generous quite,still;
The poorness
will have a strong pull,as usual.
Tell the mass
not to come with bouquet or brick-bat
henceforth.

Every ingratitude
need not come forth
with an explanation.
Rather sin-
the mud,the filth,the petrified,
let them have a long spell!

Definitions,if nature of things demands
may change.
Weakness,helplessness,passion
should have their own version of reason.
Be they bitter or sour
need the attention at their service.

Details | Sudarsan Mishro Poem

The Squirrel

Like dust clinging to mountains,
like drops clinging to the ocean,
Like Sun clinging to the sky
and the sky,though we don't know
must be clinging to something or someone,
So also I ,though not aware always
still feel at times,falling from the sky 
without someone's support benign.

How sometimes
the squeeze of a spine chilling anaconda
crushes my trunk in to pulp
in nightmares!But to my surprise
I find as I awake,a garland  of jasmine 
round my neck teasing my senses
overwhelmingly fine!

Does anybody hidden
in these moments of wounded sleep
puts back into order
all the disturbed particles
in the magnet of my physique ?
Morning appears calm,tides returning,
Ticking comes clear from the clock.

I know,My cares and frustration
torture my timid being every time. 
But those gentle 'to and fro' of fingers
of some softhearted warrior prince in peril    
on my spine, keep soothing me all the time.

All the distances of light years
melt in to shining drops of tear.
All the frigidity of my cowardice
get warmth to run to and fro
with my body bearing grains of sand
sprinkled over it's furry hairs.

Collecting them from the sand bed I go,
scattering them on the bridge-getting-built
I return,for my Hero is to fight his foe
-the giant anaconda ,treading this bridge
within a few days to come.

Details | Sudarsan Mishro Poem

Heart's Throb

It breaths itself out
and breaths itself in
just to get rid of the self 
in every attempt by every turn.

Like tongue,like teeth,like nose
like eye,like ear,like skin
it's an instrument to nullify the problem
that's only one.
Like hunger,like thirst
like length,like breadth
like curvature,like depth
like exhaustion and inertia
-the agony is the same!

How can you escape
yourself man?
You can scatter yourself
batter yourself
smear yourself,tear yourself,
throw or flow or jump or dance.
But how can tackle your
vastness/micro mass/
muteness/eloquence,
but can anything make you none
till you live on?

You have to make yourself out
and make yourself in.
Don't pretend dying
I know you'll get up soon.
If you are fleeing from here,
you'll have to be there
and thus,the whole thing is that
this acutest pain is nothing
but your own heart's throb!

Details | Sudarsan Mishro Poem

Walls Beyond Walls

Wall beyond wall,wall beyond wall
walls beyond walls still much more
like canopies and canopies to each other.

No squares,no triangles
no hetero-morphed non-symmetric structures,
only spheres with illusive and ever spreading outer
can approach them in match.For,even zeros
can contain them if needed and they can even
drag on zeros like fairly heavy loads.

Pure and pretext less pain
is the only ink to ascribe them,
and is the only currency of exchange
to know loss or gain.

Only interiors and exteriors they denote,
only revolving or making to revolve round
they promote.To get rid of bare embarrassment
you put another wall outside.To escape the same 
from within, you just try to hide in the hole
that can be bored in the centre.

No substance,no tangible really
is the structure of the apparent border,
experience instead retards and sticks you
again on still another wall like a poster.
For wall-less postures almost need some floor.

Details | Sudarsan Mishro Poem

The Perched Silence

Wonderful is the dance of our courtship--
daily getting smashed to dust
daily returned to the mirthful unison again.
Isn't the concrete so brittle or amorphous
that conjoins the blocks of stones or bricks?
And yet so strong and durable somewhere
that lasted almost a life's period!
Was or is this a bond of hatred?And if so,
is it not preferable to love even,ever?
What happens to us?
Do we have some volcanic or seismic line
as our foundation?And again if not so,
does our shelter rest upon
some dangerous latitude
so as to come closer in the evening
due to heavy rain and crack apart in the morning
due to excess of sun?

shouldn't have we missed
millions of soothing words from each other
or likewise,shouldn't have we lost
millions of opportunities to come closer to each other
in our silences of slow combustion
and in our mute or enraged communications?
And these accumulated heaps of moments
of hope,of frustration,of expectation and abortion--
are they not a million fold precious
more memorable than our expressed overtunes?
Is it then this,for this blood burning,tear soaking,
shy,solitary hankering for roasting pleasure
that we subjected ourselves knowingly
or unknowingly to such an arduos penance
for those and these years ,Darling?

Details | Sudarsan Mishro Poem

My Child

Only an extra-ordinary nose
(which I have not)can follow the odour
of your strange reason my son !
Why am I dying so much to pierce in to you
and why are you so bewildered and scarred
just at the least of my vision?

Alas,you are now counted
as one among the last grains of sand
flowing down the throat of a sand-clock/
like the last cubicle of sugar
upon the tongue-tip of time !

Tell me what you are/who you are,
red or black/square or bulbous
-answer do you never to any of my questions!
I couldn't even guess even one millionth
of your truth with all the intensity
of my hard-ignited illumination !

Who are you?Twenty five years passed,
what is your life your love?
Why do you calmly turn your face
when I approach you?Are you
that love which I couldn't demand
from someone or that ,which
I couldn't give someone in time?

Are you the haplessly solidified
stony silent answer to all my anxious questions
-big and small?Or are you the heavy return
against those spent off,non-cared for ,ignored
lighter moments that expected
                                  their jolly answer?

Details | Sudarsan Mishro Poem

Following the Next Long Moment

This and all other lives of mine
appear to be sprinkled in among
the flora and fauna
that abound in the landscapes 
around my confinement.

Am I not the one
solely responsible for his own imprisonment
at his own will in his own house?
Is it not since long
that I have not trodden
upon these dew bathed grass beds
in the morning sun?And is not it
the melancholy of the last evening
there somewhere,that still lingers
that lingers on my ear drum?

Is not it then again,
the next invitation--
the perpetuating lull and pull
of your calm green lap to me,as like ever?
And have I been ever
less reluctant,less reactant
to end this stretch of rest
under this cool shade so earlier?

Forgive me,for I have
not yet been able to fume away
to touch and kiss the ages old remains
of all my stories and histories.
I have not yet been able
as I am still within the closed wall
 of some egg shell
that is yet to crack
responding to some remote call.

O' Mom,forgive again,
but following the next long moment,
I must be born!

Details | Sudarsan Mishro Poem

To You

Almost every morning brings you
with it,as the legacy of yesterday
--agony,devastated aspiration,
miss-interpreted intentions of yours,
all rolled in to a gloomy red ball
engulfed  in the thick fog 
of suspicion and unnamed  apprehension.

I don't know much about
what you are to others
and what others might be to you.
But whenever I wake up in my prison cell,
I find my heart turgid
with somehow injected scorpion gel.

Some other rare mornings too come,
when the sky raptures with colours,
with light and with oxygen,
when I find the signature of some known
rather pretty familiar domain on the rising sun.

In your long absence,
I have managed to create 
another 'you' within me
to walk and talk with me
roaming with me in my lonely ravine.
For I know future holds no guarantee
that I should meet you again
to bow before you,to touch your feet
to quench my pain!